Migraine
by lookaliveerin
Summary: Sherlock finds himself with a migraine, and John looks after him.


**A/N: **_Literally do not know what persuaded me to write this. It was almost 2AM and this was the result :'). Thank you for reading, please review as it helps me to fix the things I'm awful at!_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock!**

* * *

"John!"' John looked up from washing the plates and placed them down quickly, rushing out of the kitchen and into the living room, where his flatmate stood with his hands over his eyes. "What's the matter, Sherlock?" He asked.

"I can't see!" The man complained with rage in his voice. "Why won't my eyes work?"

"Alright calm do-"

"I cannot be calm, I'm blind!"

"Sherlock you're not blind, will you please just sit down?" John sighed, guiding his friend to the couch where he flopped down. "Did you get something in your eyes?"

"John I think I would have informed you of that, I just started losing my sight," he whined.

"Do you feel ok? Any headache?"

Sherlock hesitated but then nodded. "Now I do."

"You've just got a migraine," John diagnosed.

"How long will it last?" Sherlock rushed, leaning his head into his hands in obvious distress. "How do I make it leave?"

"Just sleep, paracetamol probably won't do much."

"John," Sherlock dragged out. "I feel too ill to sleep."

"Let's get you to bed," John ignored Sherlock's comment. He helped the tall man to stand and lead him into his bedroom, lying him down and making sure he was comfortable and warm. "I'll go and get you a bucket in case you're sick," John told Sherlock.  
He left Sherlock lying in bed for a short minute before returning with the object and placing it on the floor next to the bed. "I'll be next door if you need me," John said, running his hands through his hair and looking at his friend. Sherlock muttered something inaudible and pulled a face, so John just left the room again.

* * *

After an hour or so, John heard his friend calling for him weakly. He stood from his chair and rushed into Sherlock's bedroom, finding his friend clutching the bucket in his hands but leaning forward with his eyes shut.

"What's wrong?" John asked, sitting next to his friend and patting his back lightly.

"I don't like feeling like this, John."

"It's okay, you'll feel better soon and everything will be back to normal. You'll be running around crime scenes soon enough." John smiled.

Sherlock groaned. "That sounds like the comforting words people tell those who are dying. Am I dying?"

John tried not to laugh. "No Sherlock, you're most certainly not dying."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock's voice broke a bit as he spoke.

"Honestly Sherlock, just go to sleep and you'll be fine." He took the empty bucket out of Sherlock's hands and placed it back on the floor, then helped Sherlock back into bed. He closed the curtains so the room was very dark.

"How will I see the bucket John?" Sherlock asked with a childlike ring to his voice. "I already can't see properly."

"Just shout me," John sighed. "Go to sleep and hurry to get better."

"I'll try."

* * *

In the evening, John cooked some soup for Sherlock as he was feeling a bit better, and had eaten nothing all day.

"Here you go," John said, putting the bowl of soup on Sherlock's legs.

"Must I eat?" Sherlock complained with a sigh.

"Unless you want to stay ill, yes."

Sherlock's eyes widened, then he began eating his soup. John left to make him a cup of tea, and when he returned he found Sherlock had eaten all the soup.

"I don't feel as bad now," Sherlock smiled as he took the tea from John gratefully.

"Told you that you'd feel better," John returned. John stayed while Sherlock drank the tea and then left with the empty cup to leave him to sleep for the night.

* * *

In the morning, John went into the living room where he saw Sherlock sat on the couch looking at him with a smile.

"I'm healed!" He yelled, jumping up from his seat. "Thank you, John."

"Erm, you're welcome Sherlock." John replied, then awkwardly walked to the kitchen.

Sherlock sprung in front of his path. "No John! I'll make breakfast today."

John raised his eyebrows. "Sherlock, it was only a migraine, I didn't just cure a long term illness."

"Yes, but you had a date last night and cancelled it for me. Thank you."

"How did you...? Never mind."

John sat at the table and watched Sherlock as he made the breakfast. Occasionally, he heard his flatmate curse under his breath as he messed the food up. The ending result was burnt toast, eggs covered in shells and undercooked bacon.

"You can't eat this, it'll make you sick." Sherlock raged, throwing the food in the bin. "Let's go out for breakfast."

"Calm down," John chuckled.

John rushed to get ready after Sherlock and then they went to leave.

"Thank you."

John turned to face Sherlock before opening the front door. "You've said that already."

"I know, but I mean it." Sherlock said.

"Look, I know you struggle to understand human conversation but there's no need to repeat yourself so much," John laughed lightly. "You're welcome."

John jumped slightly when he felt Sherlock's arms wrap around him in a tight hug. "Yes... You're quite welcome."


End file.
